


Until Death Do Us Part

by leavemetothewolves



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: So sad ryden, angsty angst, brendon has some regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:06:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leavemetothewolves/pseuds/leavemetothewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe Brendon has some regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Death Do Us Part

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I apparently only write sad Ryden?
> 
> Sorry about this

The white sheets are dappled with overstretched ovals of light. They dance slightly, moving lazily as the blinds sway in the breeze coming from the open window. The early morning songs of the birds can be heard faintly outside the window, but She was never one to simply ignore things was She? You feel Her sit up, pulling the warmth of the blankets with Her, and hear the tell-tale squeaking of the old window as, inch by inch, it closes, protesting all the way. The placid sound of rustling trees is cut off, the resonating silence feels like it’s closing in on you. You lay side by side and you both pretend you’re sleeping, faking even breaths and squinting through fluttering eyelashes, hoping, dreaming, dreading. A long worn argument, climaxing in silly excuses, pretexts layered on top of one another; a toppling tower getting ready to crush both of you under its weight. 

The white sheets tangle your legs like a trap, the very trap you were entering the day you watched Her walk down that aisle. The white dress flowed out from Her waist, and you payed no heed to the frantic whispering in your mind, because everyone has jitters, don’t they? Everyone has doubts. They’re all just mountains that you need to get over, the summit is just out of reach. But you never reached the top. You just kept climbing and climbing, and there’s an endless expanse of stark, desolate wasteland in front of you and it never ever stops. The years rolled by, accompanied by tears and arguments and shattered lamps and broken promises.

So maybe you’d made a few mistakes. Maybe you felt like you were constantly standing on a pile of regrets that shook every time you tried to make something right.

So yeah. Life was fine the way it was. Maybe you didn’t have four other people holding you up at every downfall, but that was good. You were a grown up. You could deal with shit by yourself. And you had Her, and She was gorgeous and amazing, She was the very embodiment of perfection. She was good enough for the both of you.  
You were making money, and maybe you didn’t have them anymore, maybe you missed Spencer’s drums and His lyrics. Maybe you missed everyfuckingthing about Him. But you were fine. You were making lyrics, and, yeah, they weren’t as poetic as His, but nobody had words as beautiful and broken as His. 

You’ve given up on keeping yourself from cracking, you were allowed to crack, as long as the cameras didn’t see it, or She didn’t see it or Him – oh God Him. 

That was the one thing you won’t lie about – to yourself at least. It still hurt you that He left, that he just slashed a huge red line through every single hope and dream that you had whispered to him on late nights as you lay tangled in a tour bus bunk. Dreams about the future, and hopes of an apartment and late nights and early morning kisses. Hopes of one day being able to listen to pattering feet and yells of laughter. To once again see those eyes spark with happiness, oh you’d give the whole damn world. 

But you couldn’t. Because even on those late nights when your head is hazy from booze and smoke, the phone is so heavy, you can’t even bring yourself to dial in the numbers. And then you feel soft lips brush against your cheek, and you simply let yourself melt into Her arms. 

He had always told you that you liked to take the easy route. That you didn’t try. When you were young and bold, you argued, saying that He was wrong, and just you fucking watch. But He was right. Isn’t it funny how he’s always right? 

So yeah. Maybe Life wasn’t fine the way it was. But there wasn’t any fixing it. Or, at least, any fixing that could be done the easy way around the track. 

So you turn to cuddle into her side, pressing your nose into her shoulder, as she leans back against you. You settle into the white blankets, ignoring the whispers, as you so expertly do, and settle into the trap that has become your life. You send out a silent prayer to whoever may be listening that in some alternate universe, you’re a little more resilient and take the path less travelled. 

In sickness and in health. In poverty and wealth. Until death do us part.


End file.
